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Joseph
Hidden from sight, and even from scent and sound and touch, he stands, the lines of his face drawn tight in concentration, his breathing slow and measured and his movements complex and graceful. He is dehydrated beyond the point of sweating from the exertions of casting and concentration and the easy and fluid grace of his movements comes now with a fatigue that would, should he allow it to assert itself, quickly become exhaustion. But the things he has done this day – how many can claim to have done their like or their better? And what he does presently, is this not a thing of beauty?
Art, especially great art, comes with a price. The price is important, it’s what separates the artist from the mere dilletante. The talented are many, the truly gifted less numerous but still plentiful, but those who join their gifts to the will to stretch and discipline and expand them are few indeed. Though none can see this, the veneer of glib commentary and relaxed confidence have fallen away from his bearing. There is no running commentary to be heard here. There is only the focused effort of one who senses a masterpiece in the making if he but pay the price to do so. Despite the strain, there is a genuine excitement about his features. No, this is not about Larry Silverfall and his quest, nor about the large man’s crisis of faith, nor about some shadow wielding despot. And it is most especially not about stopping the beast woman from killing them all. This is greater than that. This is a matter of art in the making and the strength of will to make it.
Had he the luxury of greater reserves of strength and concentration, he would perhaps be touched by the warrior’s lifting of his eyes upward in prayer. As it is, however, he notices it only in passing, as an element that must be accounted for. Such a gesture as that demands privacy. Such a gesture must not be disturbed. As the large man tends to the fallen Larry, the large man as well strikes outward at the lycanthrope – feinting with the silver shod end of the stave. She moves gracefully to avoid the blow, only to have another, a strike from a dimly glowing blade suddenly thrust outward from the encroaching shadows, barely miss her as well. She is allowed no time to think and her senses are overwhelmed with sights and scents and sounds arriving too quickly to processed and understood. Her agility and strength are remarkable and it is a difficult and taxing thing to keep pace with her in a combat such as this where it is the near miss and the glancing blow that must be executed with complete accuracy. To do so and still maintain the whole of the illusion, from the illusory silence of an illusory echo to the semblance of Silverfall – such a thing might well tax him beyond his limits.
But she is frightened and confused, glancing nervously about her even before the phantoms struck out at her so convincingly. He provides another hint of movement, one perceptible only on the edges of her senses, as if another were present. The shadowy assailant falls back, the semblance of the warrior steps back as well into a defensive position, a look of knowing expectation on his face and then nods to the semblance of Larry......
ooc: Stopping here to allow Larry and Morg a chance to post before I pull the trigger on a truly nasty (even by my standards) magical effect.
[ 11-21-2005, 11:48 AM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]
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